


Little Talks (Don't Listen To A Word I Say)

by lavenderparadoxes



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7486608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderparadoxes/pseuds/lavenderparadoxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stairs creaked as Arthur walked down them. Then again, so did nearly everything in the old mountain cabin he had holed himself up in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Talks (Don't Listen To A Word I Say)

The stairs creaked as Arthur walked down them. Then again, so did nearly everything in the old mountain cabin he had holed himself up in. It was dark, he had flipped on the switch in the stairwell, but the light fixture was poorly placed and didn’t illuminate much. He kept saying that they needed to fix it, but it was so easy to just do nothing here—to just lay back in the hammock on the back porch and read with a cup of coffee, staring out into the woods.

Arthur wasn’t afraid of the dark, but when he was younger this place might have set him on edge. There were too many corners to hide behind, it wasn’t the open floor plan he had favored for his apartments in New York and L.A.. There was something to be said for the cover of the woods, though. They left the curtains open most of the time, facing the back of the house, so at night you could just see the inky blackness of the forest. If there was a light on in the house, sometimes you’d catch a glint of green or gold as something looked into the house before skittering off.

It would all bother him if he were as paranoid as he used to be, as concerned with safety. He had been out of the business long enough that most of the people who he was afraid of were dead or had forgotten him. Instead, Arthur filled a glass of water from the tap, staring out into the dead of the night—into the woods. He could hear the coyotes howl in the distance—that still scared him. It was blood curdling.

“What’s got you up so late? Come back to bed, love,” He heard Eames’ voice drift down from the top of the stairs. If Arthur turned, he might see his shadow—long and crooked, cast down onto the log stairs. Arthur didn’t turn.

“I’m alright,” He replied, taking another sip of water and looking out. He wondered how far away the coyotes were tonight—he wasn’t worried, though, just curious. They didn’t have a cat, or a dog. They didn’t have chickens like the closest neighbors, five miles down the road and on a different mountain.

There was silence, and finally Arthur glanced over his shoulder. Eames was moving towards him but he was still hidden in the shadows, Arthur couldn’t make out the look on his face. As Eames wrapped his arms around him, Arthur felt a chill run down his spine.

“Eames,” Arthur said, with a soft distress, turning fully to face him.

And like always, the shadow dissipated.

Arthur was alone again.

The moment hung, fragile, until Arthur swallowed and walked back to the kitchen. With careful, measured movements he poured another glass of water, drinking it without a pause, before he placed the empty glass in the sink. 

The stairs creaked as Arthur went up them. He turned the light out at the top of the stairs. Moonlight flickered in through the window at the end of the hall, and Arthur used it to make it back to the bedroom. The bed was still half made, he had always been a neat sleeper, but instead of going straight back to his side of the bed he walked around it. There was a carved wooden box on top. Inside was a man’s watch, Eames’ father’s ring. A poker chip, faded and worn around the age—the paint had begun to chip and scratch off in a few places.

Arthur picked it up, running his fingers over the subtly grooved edges, feeling each chip in the paint. He stood nearly still as he held it, examining it as closely as he could while his eyes adjusted back to the darkness of the bedroom.

“It’s the same as every night, darling. Don’t worry yourself over it, get some sleep.” Arthur didn’t turn to look this time, he could see the shadow from the corner of his eye, an indistinct shape.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll try,” He finally said, holding the poker chip in his fist, before he put it back in the box, delicately closing the lid. Arthur went back to his side of the bed, pulling the blankets over himself. 

The bed was cold, and Arthur wanted to go back to sleep. But he could hear the coyotes howling, maybe they were getting closer. He could hear the house creak in the wind, that was whistling through the trees around the house.

Arthur closed his eyes, and if he didn’t think too hard he could pretend that the soft, “Goodnight, Arthur,” was coming from right next to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a textpost and "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men. You can find me on tumblr (lavenderparadoxes), always taking prompts <3
> 
> First published Inception fic! Just in time for Inceptiversary!


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